The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

They entered the main dining room of the palace after the chamberlain had announced them to see everyone standing at his place. It made Finn think of a scene out of an historical romance, all those medals and epaulets and sashes, moustaches and muttonchops and beards, bodices and ribbons and chokers and cameos, necklaces and rings and bracelets, pomp and circumstance and splendor. He wondered what would happen if he ordered a hamburger. And a beer. Some french fries on the side, with steak sauce. Being a king, he decided, was very overrated. The job had certain perks, but it had to be tiresome to constantly be the focus of so much formality and pointless ceremony. The occasion, Sapt had explained to him, was a “state dinner” and its purpose seemed to be nothing other than to give the lords and ladies of Ruritania, the ministers and high-ranking officers, the ambassadors and their factotums, assorted minor functionaries and hangers-on a feeling of importance at being pri

vileged to share a table with His Majesty. It made Finn think of the 20th-century British monarchy. A showpiece royal family. They didn’t actually do anything except be a royal family. A nominal royalty, they lived a life that could be described as a photo opportunity in exchange for drawing exorbitant salaries just so their “subjects” could bask in the trivial and pointless glamor of their existence. While the economy of the nation that had once been a major world power continued in a constant downward spiral, they lived in palatial residences (plural, of course, we must have summerhomes and country estates and stables and riding to hounds), spent enough on clothing to feed an average middle-class family for several years, had their little romances extensively documented and their family squabbles agonized over in the press, all the while being treasured like prize canaries in a cage by people dazzled by and starved for their celebrity. Meanwhile, the matters of government were left to politicians, far less glamorous and cultured but much more workmanlike. It would have been the same, undoubtedly, with Rudolf. He would have enjoyed all this, thought Finn. What was it about people, he wondered, that even in so-called egalitarian societies, they seemed to eschew the very concept of class, all the while creating it on all levels of their culture?

As they moved up to the table to take their places, Fritz and Helga began to walk toward the far end, but Finn caught Helga by the sleeve and indicated the place next to his, where there were two empty seats on his right.

“Oh, no, Sire,” Helga said, blushing. “Surely, it must have slipped your mind, but that is the Duke of Strelsau’s place.”

“Well?” said Finn. “Where is he?”

Fritz cleared his throat. “It seems that he has not arrived, yet, Sire. Doubtless, he has been unavoidably detained.”

“Well, then, he shall unavoidably sit elsewhere,” Finn said, to the shocked stares of the assemblage. “I have no desire to separate the princess from her close friend and companion. Suppose I should run out of conversation halfway through the meal? Everyone knows what a boring fellow I can be. Flavia would have no one to talk to. Strakencz there, Lord love him, is half deaf and she would have to shout into his ear. Most discommodious for both of them. No, it would never do. Sit down here and you, Fritz, take the place next to hers. I insist.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Helen, her face very red at being the focus of all the attention. Von Tarlenheim suppressed a smile as he sat down next to her. Several of the diners looked outraged, but none dared speak.

“Well, then, that’s all settled,” Finn said.

Platoons of servants began to bring out silver serving trays with platters of food upon them. Finn was naturally served first. He waited until literally everyone else at the table had their food before him. Everyone was watching him expectantly. Finn glanced at Flavia.

“What are they all staring at?” he said, in a low voice.

“I believe that they are all waiting for you, Sire,” she said. “Oh.” He glanced up and down the table. “We seem to be bereft of churchmen this evening.”

The diners exchanged puzzled glances.

“Well, in that case, Marshal Strakencz, perhaps you would be so kind as to say grace?” said Finn.

Eyebrows were raised up and down the table.

“Beg pardon, Sire?” Strakencz said, leaning forward towards him.

“Grace, Strakencz.”

“Race? What race?”

“Grace.”

“Eh?”

“GRACE! GRACE! Oh, the hell with it. Bow your heads, everyone.”

Hesitantly, as if a little shell-shocked, they all bowed their heads, staring up at him out of the corners of their eyes.

“For what we are about to receive, may the good Lord make us all truly thankful,” Finn said. He crossed himself and, after a brief hesitation, they all did likewise. Von Tarlenheim was biting his lower lip and attempting to keep his shoulders from shaking.

“Well?” said Finn. “What the devil are you all waiting for? Eat!”

There was a muted noise of plates and silverware.

“Talk!” said Finn.

A strangled sound escaped von Tarlenheim’s throat. They began to converse among themselves, stealing furtive glances at Finn to see if he approved. At that moment, Michael arrived with Falcon on his arm. All conversation instantly ceased. Flavia looked up at “Countess Sophia” and pressed her lips together tightly.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, with exaggerated formality, giving Finn a piercing look. “Please accept my apologies for having been detained. It was inexcusable. Allow me to present the Countess Sophia, who is visiting with us from Florence.” Finn stood up. There followed a hasty scraping of chairs as everyone else stood, also. Their eyes met.

“Your Majesty,” said Falcon, with just the barest trace of irony in her voice. She curtsied deeply, inclining her head, but staring up at him as she did so, her gaze boring into him. She had electrified the room merely by her presence, and from the expressions on Flavia and Helen’s faces, it was clear that what Sapt had said about her notoriety was not an understatement. Flavia looked uncomfortable, but Helen looked scandalized. It was with an effort that Finn kept himself under control. Not this time, he thought. You won’t get to me this time. I can play this game as well as you, bitch.

“Countess,” Finn said, making a very small bow. “I’m very pleased to see you face to face at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”